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“Five years,” Aubree mumbles. “I was at the George Stanley for five years before you left, Doctor.”
“In reception?” Leaving us at the door without waiting for an answer, Chant stalks away, through an ornate hallway filled with pretty trinkets and chandeliers that match those I had removed from my office the week I arrived. She leads us to a sitting room of sorts, with a burning fireplace and a drink cart just waiting for guests.
This is a woman used to hosting those who consider themselves society’sbetters.
“What can I help you with, Doctor Mayet?” Chant stops in front of the fireplace. She doesn’t sit, and she doesn’t invite us to do so either. “You need help already?”
“Respectfully,” I stop in front of a wingback chair, “it’sChiefMayet. And we’re not here for help so much as we have questions about a case you ran in eighty-six.” I offer the file in my hand and watch as she flips it open.
Her expression remains bored. Her stance, rigid and unwelcoming. But while she reads, her eyes narrow and her fingers grow tighter.
I don’t miss a single nuance.
“Who is this?” She snaps the file closed and offers it back. “Nineteen eighty-six was a long time ago, Chief. What is it you want from me?”
Liar, liar, satin pants on fire. You knowexactlywho Holly is.
“The local police have reopened this old case, and they’ve requested the assistance of the George Stanley building. In the course of my investigation, I found this file… and, as it turns out, you were a fourth-year back then. Experienced enough to run your own case.”
“Young enough to have made a mistake.”
“So there were mistakes made?” Slowly, boldly, I lower into the high-back chair and cross my legs. If I sit, everyone else will too; it’s socially polite, and Chant will undoubtedly be swayed by social obligations. “Can you elaborate?”
“I can hardly remember the case.” She moves across to another seat and sits on the edge.Peer pressure for the win. “I certainly cannot remember the details.”
“So why mention mistakes?”
“If the police are reopening a case, it stands to reason they think they found a fault in the file. And if so, I trust you to be professional in your dealings with them. Seek the advice of the George Stanley legal division before you make a statement. Am I to expect the press at my door, Chief?”
“Not as far as I can predict.” I offer the file again. “But I’d appreciate it if you could reacquaint yourself with Holly Wade’s death. It’s important we discuss it, so if questioned, I can be informed in my responses. The George Stanley’s reputation will depend on the information I have, and what of it I can relay.”
I release the folder when the woman reaches across with tense movements and takes it. Then I sit back as though at leisure.
If I have to look sophisticated and snooty to get the woman to talk, then that’s what I’ll do. To demand my title, instead of only ‘Doctor,’ was step one in keeping the woman on her back foot.
“Holly Wade,” I repeat, as Chant reads and Aubree hovers over my left shoulder. “She was twenty-three years old and ran her car into the front of a truck. Do you remember?”
“Suicidal junkie.” Snapping the file closed, Chant settles back and firms her thin lips. “She was open and closed.”
I spare a glance for Aubree and lift my chin. I hate myself, I hate who I have to be. “Can you fetch me and Doctor Chant a drink?”
“Fe—” Her eyes fling to Chant’s. “Fetch?”
“Excellent idea.” My predecessor nods toward a doorway. “Kitchen is through there. Don’t touch anything you’re not supposed to.”
“Um…” Bringing her gaze back to me, Aubree’s eyes zing with bitter rage. “Sure.” Then she grits her teeth and fakes a toothy grin. “Boss. I’d be happy tofetchyou a drink.”
As she leaves, her shoulders wide, and her head held high, I turn back to Chant and smile. “It’s just us. Tell me about Holly.”
“She was a chronically unhappy woman who eventually took her own life. Suicidal ideation. Newlywed. Crappy job. She decided she was done with it all, so she killed herself.”
“How do you know she was suicidal?” I keep my tone soft. My words unhurried. “We’re medical examiners, Doctor Chant. We come inafterthey’re already dead. So did she have markers on her body? Previous self-harm?”
“I spoke to her friend.” She narrows her eyes for a moment in thought. “In the days after the crash, I had a constant stream of visitors at the George Stanley. Regulations were not as tight back then, which meant anyone with emotional interest in the deceased could request a viewing. Her husband came in. Her boss. Her crazy sister. And her best friend.”
“Why do you call the sister crazy?”
She scoffs. “Because she was tearing the building up, screaming about conspiracy theories and declaring Holly’s death wasn’t an accident.”
